


find some new way to love me

by MusicalChick13



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, aka River's a data ghost, aka Rosa, angst???, i guess???????, in which the author self-projects WAAAAYYYYY too much, spoilers for 11x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 21:08:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalChick13/pseuds/MusicalChick13
Summary: “How did you do it?” She asks the picture in the corner. For some reason, she’s still held onto it. Probably because she hates herself a little bit. A lot. Maybe. Probably.





	find some new way to love me

**Author's Note:**

> I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF THIS MAKES ANY SENSE BUT I HAD AN IDEA SO HERE WE ARE

She admits the whole Rosa Parks thing…well, it kind of messed her up a bit, if she’s being honest. She’s always loved being part of history. But not like this. She’d give her right arm if there had been any other way of ensuring the Civil Rights Movement stayed on track.

She’s going to be haunted by her part in all of this for a long time to come. But, at the very least, she knows that what she did was to preserve the timeline. At least she knows that good came out of it. At least she had made this decision knowing exactly what she was going to do and why.

That didn’t make it any easier.

“How did you do it?” She asks the picture in the corner. For some reason, she’s still held onto it. Probably because she hates herself a little bit. A lot. Maybe. Probably 

Her wife had dedicated her _life_ to studying the past, digging up information, trying to piece together history. But being that she was, well, _River_ , she imagines she’d had to make more than her fair share of uncomfortable decisions in order to preserve the timeline. Or, at least, she assumed. Not that River wasn’t capable of shattering the existence of time itself through sheer force of will.

The Doctor allows herself a small chuckle at that. River had always been better than her at everything, breaking rules included. 

And, if she was on the subject of parsing through her uncomfortable feelings regarding this whole ordeal…it certainly didn’t help that…Krasko (ugh, terrible name _and_ terrible person)…had been from…there. 

She looks at the picture again. “I’m sorry.”

_And now she’s talking to a picture. Grief is…a very strange emotion._

“I was young, and…I didn’t think about the fact that you’d be in there with people like him. The absolute worst dregs of the universe. I didn’t think about so many things. And I’m so sorry." 

She looks away from the picture, ashamed. “You deserved better than that. And I was too young and stupid to see it.”

A deep breath. She lets her eyes float back to the smirking, curly-haired woman in the photo. Because if she’s going to face her past, she’s going to do it right and respectfully.

Her wife had deserved that much.

“I looked him up, you know. That…Krasko.” She winces. He doesn’t even deserve the courtesy of being addressed by his name. “To make sure that he didn’t wind up escaping from the past and wreaking havoc somewhere else. Books they discovered bits of his skeleton in 3047, mixed up with a bunch of creatures from the Cretaceous Period. Eaten by dinosaurs.”

She liked to think River would have laughed at that.

“You know, all of the books said he was ‘an inmate of Stormcage, home to River Song.’ Seems you’re quite infamous.” The playful grin that had begun to creep onto her face fades instantly. “All of those terrible people, and you’re the one they remember. All of those horrible, horrible beings, and I let you stay there, in the middle of all of them. I knew that was dangerous, potentially traumatizing, and after everything you had been through as a child, I sent you there. God, River…how did you ever think I was worth it?”

“ _Well, no one’s perfect, dear. Just glad you’ve gained some self-awareness. The jokes about my face being constantly impressed by you_ **_were_** _getting rather old_.” That’s probably what she would have said. The Doctor can almost hear her now.

The next time she blinks, her eyes are sticky with tears. Maybe it’s a testament to how far she’s come that she doesn’t try to wipe them away or hide them from herself. Or maybe she’s just lost. Confused. Sad. Always sad.

When she looks at the picture again, she stares directly into photo-River’s eyes, instead of avoiding them like she has this entire monologue. Because it always hurts when someone sees right through you. And even on a two-dimensional piece of paper that could never come close to capturing her vibrancy, River’s gaze bores holes into her soul, dredges up feelings of vulnerability the Doctor still can’t quite put a name to. River doesn’t even have to be alive to make the Doctor painfully aware of everything she is.

“One of the pieces—op-ed article, absolute rubbish—said he was what you would have been if you hadn’t met me.

Which, quite obviously, isn’t fair. You had been kidnapped and brainwashed from birth. You fell into the hands of people who rewired your mind and prevented you from having a childhood. You always had the capacity for kindness. Even if I hadn’t been there, you would have figured it out eventually. You never needed _me_ for that.”

She lets out a fond…well, it’s not really a laugh, she can never really laugh when she thinks about River anymore. A humorous noise. “You never really needed me for anything.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Do you always make assumptions like this? Seriously, does that carry over into _every single_ regeneration you ever have?”

The Doctor turns over her shoulder, and there she is. White dress, wild hair, eyes still burning with the fire of discernment, crooked smile still making both of her hearts threaten to stop, though a little softer around the corners of her mouth than usual.

“Am…am I really that tired?” Because that’s it. She must be hallucinating. She must need sleep and have not realized it. That is the _only_ possible explanation for why the long-dead wife she had just been thinking about was suddenly in front of her.

“No, dear, it’s me, I’m afraid.”

“But?? How????”

“Sometimes, I try to reach out, beyond the Mainframe, see if I can latch onto anything. Most of the time I don’t get anywhere, but I can connect to someone if there’s a particularly strong telepathic connection.” Her smile widens, a conspiratorial expression now on her face, and _oh_ , the Doctor’s missed that look. “Seems you were feeling particularly sentimental today.”

And the Doctor just shoots her a ridiculous, tear-framed grin. Before she even has the thought to do so, she’s walking wordlessly toward her wife and gently wrapping her arms around her in a hug.

This seems to take River by surprise, if the sharp intake of breath is of any indication, but she settles her chin on the Doctor’s shoulder and lets out a barely perceptible murmur of contentment.

River’s hands feel warm and soft on her back, despite her being a hologram…projection…thing…and it is very, _very_ , _much_ too easy for the Doctor to believe that nothing has changed, that River is alive, that they have so much more time together.

River, being the more practical of the two of them (sometimes), lets go first. Because despite her penchant for breaking rules, for metaphorically eating top-level prison guards for a midnight snack, for breaking time in ways the Doctor’s young self could only _dream_ of, she’s the one who knows how things are. She’s the one with the full grasp of the reality of the situation, the one with the answers of what, exactly, is really going on. She always has been. That’s one of the many reasons why the Doctor had always kept coming back.

“How long have you been there?”

“I started hearing you when you were saying something about being young and not thinking. Only managed to materialize when you said I…” she falters. She closes her eyes, bows her head down, wrings her hands slightly. It is _distinctly_ un-River. The Doctor doesn’t like it. “That I had the capacity for kindness.”

For once, the Doctor understands exactly what’s going through her wife’s head. “Oh, River. You know that’s true, right?”

“Is it? Would I have improved if it hadn’t been for you?”

“Yes. You would have.”

“You can’t know that.”

“And you can’t know that you wouldn’t!”

The tears that streak down River’s face seem so, so real, and the Doctor’s hearts ache at the knowledge that they’re not. Because if River is going to cry, she should be alive and in a physical body while she does it.

And, while the Doctor will _never_ be happy that River is crying, she is infinitely grateful for those 24 years on Darrilium, because at least River isn’t trying to hide her feelings this time.

“I have met monsters. _Loads_ of monsters. _You_ are not a monster. You never were. If you were, you wouldn’t have been able to change. If you were, you wouldn’t be in the Mainframe right now. You’d be out blowing up a planet, not caring who gets hurt, trying to cause as much destruction as possible.”

River lets out a sound that’s far too mirthless to be a chuckle, but the Doctor doesn’t know what else to call it. “Isn’t that what I do anyway? Cause destruction?”

“No.”

“Doctor—”

“ _Not to me._ ”

A soft flicker of a smile plays around River’s lips. “You always were a sap, weren’t you.”

“Guilty.”

And a real smile graces her face this time.

“River, I’m sorry. For everything. For ever doing or saying anything to make you believe you were…less.”

Her wife looks up at her with pure, unadulterated wonder, as if she had offered to marry her on top of that pyramid all over again.

River starts to speak, adopts a brief nonchalant demeanor, obviously getting ready to brush it off as inconsequential.

“I’m _sorry,_ ” the Doctor cuts in, before she can diminish her own suffering yet again.

River simply stares into her eyes for a while, until understanding gently softens her features and her eyes shine with a gratefulness the Doctor isn’t sure she’s ever seen before.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“It’s the least I can do. After everything you’ve done for me. All the times you called me out, helped me solve things. For…understanding.”

“I…”

“River, I _would not have made it this far without you_. Bad people don’t help me. They try to stop me. They deter me. _You are not a monster, and you are not undeserving of love_.”

And suddenly River is crying again, and the Doctor had thought that was a nice thing to say, but maybe not and _why are emotions so hard??_

But apparently this is…happy crying? Relived crying? She’s not sure, but it must be some sort of positive emotion, because River is kissing her and she feels _so real_ , and the Doctor feels like _finally_ something makes sense, just for a moment.

When they break apart, the Doctor winds a curl around her index finger and when she looks at River again, she is suddenly struck by a wave of…something. There’s a word that describes how River looks at this moment, and she can’t quite grasp it, because she doesn’t think she uses it in this context very often and

_…Beautiful._

River is beautiful.

Had she never fully appreciated that before?

The Doctor doesn’t know what to say. She tries to convey this, to say that she’s sorry for not saying it earlier, but she’s so overcome with _feelings_ that it just comes out, “You’re…really pretty.”

And River honest-to-God _laughs_ , and it’s the best thing she’s heard in a long time.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” River counters. And then subtly drags her gaze over the Doctor’s body, and she feels herself shiver with an adrenaline-y sensation that feels like running _but_ _better_.

And then River flickers briefly, and everything is a bit terrible again.

“I’m sorry, my love, I can only reach out like this for so long. Even a virtual body has…limitations.”

The Doctor can only imagine the look of disappointment on her own face. It must border on comical, the way River looks like she’s trying to suppress a laugh.

“What? Don’t look at me like that. I missed you.”

“And I, you. More than you can possibly know.”

Another flicker. And River looks terrified. The Doctor knows that look of fear. It’s one that only she has ever been able to inspire. The one on the face of everyone who crosses her, the one on the face of everyone who knows just how _much_ she really is.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

Fond exasperation flits across her face. “No, I…” And then, suddenly, she is serious again. Almost uncharacteristically so. “Do we always have to keep saying good-bye?”

And now she understands. Fear, not so much _of_ her, but of leaving her. Of losing something found again. Of not being able to let go.

She understands because she feels it, too 

So she won’t let go. Not now. Probably not ever. She’s always been rubbish at that.

“Well, if you can find me every time I’m feeling sentimental, I expect you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

River’s smile is dazzling when she replies, with more than a hint of flirtatiousness, “I’d better.”

If the Doctor could see the stupid gooey smile on her face right now, she’s probably be embarrassed. She’s looking forward to River teasing her about it later. About a lot of things. “Goodbye, then. For now."

“For now.”  And then River begins to fade, the air between them, for once, calm and peaceful now that there is finally a promise of tomorrow. Some sort of, albeit imperfect, solution.

The nanosecond her wife is gone, the Doctor turns back to River’s photo with a soft, slightly bitter smile.

“Miss you already.”

She could _almost_ swear she hears a performative groan at the cheesy sentiment.

After sharing a secret smile with herself, she goes over to the picture and kisses photo-River’s forehead. A million different feelings swirl around in her chest cavity, from pain at being so brutally reminded that River was gone, to suffocating fear that something might happen to the virtual version of her, to the thrilling excitement of knowing it was possible to see her again, to the feeling of cautious hope that overwhelmed them all.

This wasn’t going to be easy, because nothing ever was. But maybe, just maybe, things would be…okay.

And okay…was a beautiful, beautiful thing.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been literal years since I wrote for this fandom, but I needed to cope with my life, so this is what happened.


End file.
